


my battery is getting low and it is getting dark

by Blepbean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Isolation AU, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 09:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blepbean/pseuds/Blepbean
Summary: “Added report, personal message. This is for my two sons, Connor and uh—"[Audio Recording Error][Attempting to repair Audio Recording]"I love you, both of you"[Ending of recording]When Connor is assigned a mission to travel to Sevastopol for a mission, along with Gavin and Tina. To retrieve the a recording, the last few words that his Dad ever spoke. It all goes down hill to quickly uncovering things that he wished he didn't know.





	1. Spacewalk

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh Couple of heads up!
> 
> I’m currently in the process of changing and evolving my writing style, I’m sorry if this is awkward to read, this writing style in this fic will keep changing.
> 
> A couple of details are changed in this fic, the game might not be the exact game as this fic. I changed events, details because I feel like it would fit it better.
> 
> I don’t have a beta reader! I edit my own fics so I’m so sorry if I mess up on grammar, spelling, sentence structure etc. feel free to point it out!
> 
> So that out of the way Comments, kudos, feedback is appreciated <3

_ “Added report, personal message. This is for my two sons, Connor and uh—“ _

 

_ [Audio Recording Error] _

 

_ [Attempting to repair Audio Recording] _

 

_ “I love you, both of you.” _

 

_ [Ending of recording] _

 

The hiss of the door is too loud, ringing inside his ears, making him go back to reality.

 

He doesn’t want to go back to reality

 

Connor could leave, he could cancel on the mission, he could stay on the Torrens, there’s a million possibilities on how he could stop himself from leaving.

 

But he can’t, he already made a promise, one that he can’t break, unlike the ones he made five years ago.

 

A promise from his Dad

 

It’s a promise for himself

 

He stands up, taking the tape from the tape player, he stares at it, running his fingers through the dust, it was always a habit he couldn’t stop. He stares at the blue words quickly written on it.

 

_ “Corrupted flight recorder.” _

 

It was the only thing he received, 19, heavy words from his Dad, he wished there was more, begging for one more word, it’s the only time he was  _ selfish _ for something. He remembered receiving it on the mail, on a cloudy morning of October, holding the tape, light yet heavy in his shaking, clammy hands. He couldn’t get out of the bed for over a week, he was in his messy bed and dirty covers, his tears would stain his pillows each night and his hand would reach for his phone, it’s itching, always itching to contact Cole, but he would only hear the silent ringing echo through the dark room when he try would call him.

 

He hears the silent hiss of the door.

 

_ Shit _

 

He turns his back on the door, wiping the unhushed tears from his eyes. His  Dad’s voice echoes through his voice, reminding him of what to do. He takes his shaky hands, holding it close to his chest, feeling the silent beat of his thirium pump.

 

It slowly makes his stress levels climb back down.

 

“Connor?” Her voice is soft, gentle. He grateful for that. He stares down at the shadows on the ground, hesitant to turn around.

 

_ “Dad I’m scared.” _

 

_ “Scared of what?” _

 

_ Scared of himself _

 

He turns around, giving Tina a weak smile as he clears his dry throat. She looks at hims awkwardly for a moment, it makes his heart sink, did she see him, is she judging him? Thoughts grow rampant in his mind, it’s hard to take control.

 

“I…” he looks at her face, biting his lower lip. The silence is deafening, saying a thousand words without drawing a single breath.

 

“Connor I was just wondering if you were free.” She says, trying to change the situation between them, her eyes locked into his own and not on his eyebags or the dry trails of his tears.

 

“I just wanted to talk to you, in the kitchen, just a little chat.”

 

He tucks the tape away in the corner of his bed, putting a pillow over it. He doesn’t want to see it, not now at least.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Their silent footsteps echoes through the dim hallways.

 

He doesn’t dare say a single word, it feels like an unspoken agreement between them as they walk in silence. 

 

At least that’s what Connor thinks.

 

They enter the kitchen, frowning as his eyes trains on the tiny, immaculate details like the not so cleaned stain on the table. He grabs a thirium packet from the cupboard.

 

“Sorry if I sound horrible, I feel like death, I’m not used to hyper sleeping.” Tina says, sounding like she’s just talking to herself. Connor sits down on the table next to Tina, hand on the table as he fidgets with the packet, slowly drinking it down.

 

“I came to talk about Gavin,” she rubs her one of her eyes, a frown on her face, “it’s no secret he doesn’t like Androids, your  _ race _ , he hasn’t talked about why he hates Androids but I think it’s got something to do with himself and how he sees people.” 

 

Tina spins of the salt shakers on the table, watching it move back and forth, she sighs, her tired, heavy eyes is apologetic in a way, it makes Connor feel bad in a way. 

 

“So in advance I’m sorry if he says anything shitty to you in this mission.” 

 

He crinkles the thirium packet, eyes trained on the tiny creases of the packeting. He’s doing this just so he could distract himself, he’s not used to this. 

 

“I’m sure he’s sorry.” She mutters, sounding like Gavin’s big sister, it’s sweet in a way. 

 

But it’s bitter for him.

 

It reminds him of him and Cole

 

_ Imsosorrycole _

 

“Connor? You alright?” Tina asks, it makes grounds him back to reality, back to the messy table littered with random papers and half-empty mugs. He shakes his head, burying his face into his hands. “Sorry I’m… tired in a way.” His voice comes out a muted, he takes his hands off his face.

 

“One more thing Connor,” she shifts on her seat before continuing, “I know you’re doing this for another reason, I heard it was…” she chews on her lower lip, “for closure, is it true?”

 

The words doesn’t shock him or make his heart sink, he’s used to it by now, people asking him why he’s doing this, poking at his personal life, asking how he’s doing, why he’s doing it. He hates it.

 

The quiet thrumming of the Torrens keeps ringing inside his ears.

 

Maybe he could tell Tina.

 

_ Maybe _

 

“It’s just my Dad, his name is Hank. He was on Cyberlife when it all happened, one of the last ships the company made before shutting down.” He blankly stares at the crinkled thirium pack in his hands that he’s been playing with, trying to stretch out the moment of silence.

 

It only went for about a second, it was enough for him to blink the tears away from his eyes. “When I’ve been told that my Dad is missing I only received the corrupted message of the copied flight recorder, I only heard 19 words from him. The original is inside  _ there _ .”

 

He should stop this conversation—there’s no need for it, he could simply walk out, keep it in the back of his mind and count it as another awkward experience.

 

But something grounds him.

 

Maybe it’s the comforting smile on her face.

 

_ Maybe _

 

“I wish he could have said more,” he says, like its just to himself, for him to hear alone, a quiet secret that no one needs to hear, “then maybe I could have heard more words from him.” 

 

“I miss  _ him _ .”

 

It echoes through the room, silent, heavy. 

 

But to him it feels like a gun went off, sending a never-ending of chaos that slowly spirals down.

 

He shouldn’t have said that

 

Connor bites his lower lip, blares of alarms going off in his systems, telling him to calm down, that’s he’s not stable in his ears, that his stress levels are too high.

 

He shouldn’t have said that

 

“There’s nothing left for me to say but I’m sorry,” she says, it wasn’t what he was expecting. He was expecting awkwardness, a deafening silence for a minute while she excuses her to leave.

 

That’s what he expected

 

“I know it must have been hard to go through.” She stands up, and  _ she’s _ smiling, not the one that’s forced, not the fake smiles that’s he’s used to, but it’s a reassuring one. He didn’t say anything for five seconds, but it feels like he should say something, anything, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to say something  _ good. _

 

“Don’t lose hope Connor, he’s out there,” Tina mutters, smoothing out the crease of her shirt as she waves goodbye to Connor. It leaves him alone, as he idly stays there, blankly staring at the ruined thirium packet, finding the tiny patterns and letters more interesting than anything else.

 

Maybe talking with Tina wasn’t so bad

 

_ Maybe _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“All personnel to the bridge. Approaching Sevastopol station.”

 

Connor walks the silent hallways of the Torrens.

 

He doesn’t like the silence as he hears his own footsteps echo through the hallways, it gets in his nerves, the way he could hear his biocomponents whirring that only Androids can hear and the way the air is absolutely still.

 

He sees Gavin at the end of the hallway

 

Something tells him to talk to him. Maybe he would finally say sorry to Connor, sorry to all the things he  _ did  _ and  _ said _ .

 

He quickens his pace.

 

Connor’s three steps behind him. 

 

“Gavin,” he says, it comes out quieter than he liked. 

 

So he tries again.

 

“Gavin I just wanted to say—“

 

“Shut the fuck up.” It comes out a harsh, cold, irritated. He keeps his words to himself as he takes a step back, finding himself four steps behind Gavin. 

 

“Noted.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


His eyes were quickly drawn to the vast, emptiness of space outside the window.

 

Thoughts and memories of him staring out into the night, his chin on the window sill as he makes silly names for each distant spek in the sky. 

 

That was only twenty years ago.

 

It’s scary to think about.

 

“Morning Connor, Gavin, Tina. Hope you all had a restful journey.” He could instantly tell who it was, Amanda, the strange woman who often acted standoffish, weird and has a weird obsession with roses.

 

Connor puts his hands behind his back, putting on a facade as he blankly stares at Amanda in the centre, watching her pull out a rose from a vase, putting it close to her nose as she takes a whiff.

 

“Roses are wonderful, aren’t they?” She mutters, like she’s waiting for a response from someone, but all of them stay quiet, daring not to break the thin layer of silence. He could imagine Gavin cringing as he bites his lower lip.

 

“Such a shame roses die off,” Amanda puts the rose back into the vase, she clasps her hands in front of her, her eyes sets on Connor.

 

It’s unsettling, creepy, and out right  _ weird _ .

 

“I have already given you the debriefing documents, you are all aware of your objectives, correct?” 

 

No one draws a single a word

 

Amanda stares at the monitor behind her, the ten seconds of silence is unbearable for him. He takes this time to look at Gavin, it’s weird for him to see him professional, standing straight, hands behind his back, it’s so unusual from brash, easily unlikeable Gavin that he sees in a daily basis.

 

His eyes quickly catches Connor looking.

 

_ “Stare at me one more time you Android and I’ll dismantle you to pieces.” _

 

The unspoken words in his glare is frightening.

 

“The station hasn’t replied back to the messages the Torrens has been broadcasting. Who knows what could be lurking in Sevastopol.” Her gaze once again falls into Connor, he tries not to notice her piercing gaze, he focuses on the quiet rhyming of the ship to distract himself.

 

“The Torrens can only keep transit for 24 hours, make sure you recover the original copy of the flight recorder through any means, this final piece of evidence would close out a case that has been plaguing Detroit for fifteen years.” 

 

She takes a step forward, closer to Connor.

 

“Connor will be leading the mission, all orders will come from him and he will take responsibility.” Amanda smiles at him, and it feels somehow  _ fake _ , dripping with poison. He forces himself to push through this, but he could feel his stress levels spike with no reason.

 

This isn’t worth worrying about.

 

But the back of his mind says so otherwise

 

“Good luck to all of you.” She says, and within the split second he could feel his led bleed red. It’s bad, he’s associated red with bad things like the colour of distress, the colour of—

 

_ Blood _

 

_ Blood _

 

_ Blood _

 

_ Blood is red _

 

_ imsosorrycole _

 

“Connor,” he looks around him, mind buzzing with unknown thoughts that is  _ too much _ for his mind, it took him five seconds to notice that’s he should’ve left a moment ago. “You seem… distant,” Amanda looks at him like he’s getting  _ observed _ , underneath a microscope, getting ready to be fixed.

 

“Are you sure you’re able to carry out this mission?”

 

“I can Amanda.”

 

“Good.”

 

He leaves with a nagging thought in the back of his mind.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“My contract didn’t cover… this.” He looks to his right, seeing Gavin’s scowl through the scratches of the helmet.

 

“It will be perfectly safe,” Connor says, trying to step up as the leader, but he can’t look at him for too long, those  _ eyes _ reminds him of memories not too long ago. “Just make sure to follow behind me, you too Tina.” 

 

Connor puts on his helmet, feeling a buzzing sensation inside his head as he syncs himself up to the comms. 

 

“I don’t take advice from a plastic prick.” Gavin’s voice comes out as grainy, loud, glitchy. He grits his teeth as he hears it echo inside his head.

 

“You’re going to have to trust me, Gavin.” He feels his head buzz as he sends it to the comms, it’s something he’ll have to get used to. A loud, blaring alarm echoes through the chamber as they climb in. He could hear Gavin’s short breaths, it makes him feel about him a little bit.

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“It’s depressurising Gavin you’re not going to die.”

 

“How the hell would I know Tina? I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

 

“You’re in this mess now, better get used to it.”

 

It’s like their siblings. Going hand in hand, making sure each one is fine, poking each other if they're alive, someone doing it more than the other, it’s sweet, reminding him of  Cole his childhood. Connor takes one final breath, feeling the stale, warm air burn his throat one final time before the door open into the vast emptiness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He catches a glimpse of the gas giant behind the Sevastopol station, watching the clouds swirl. There’s a sort of peace as he stares out into the open, counting each tiny speck in the darkness, each one a star of a planet, he started naming them already out of habit.

 

“You’re doing good Gavin,” Tina says, he can’t tell if she’s joking to him or not. 

 

“Shut up Tina—“

 

A rupture of flames below in front of them, feeling a giant wall of heat. He squints, covering his eyes. His led bleeds red, bright red,  not blood . He needs to focus, to calm down, his hands are shaky, he can’t take a deep breath, he can’t put his hands over his own chest to feel it.

 

“Goddammit keep moving!” It snaps him out of it, back to the deadly face of reality. What now? He needs to take charge, to lead everyone to safety, that’s what he’s good at. Connor could hear the heavy, ragged breaths that comes out glitchy, he guesses it’s from Gavin.

 

“Keep holding on!” He keeps staring at his hands, tightly gripping the iron handle that securely locks onto the rope.

 

It’s like he’s hanging from a thread.

 

His thirium pump drowns every shaky breath he hears.

 

He could feel the weight of the mission, heavy, dragging him down into the abyss of nothingness.

 

“Connor!” 

 

He could feel thirium staining his mouth as he bites down on his lower lip.

 

“Connor something heading our way!”

 

His vision is fading.

 

And he can’t breathe.

 

He doesn’t  _ even _ need to breathe.

 

“Goddammit Connor!” He finally snaps back to the face of reality, but it’s late, way too late.

 

The single thread of life that’s he's hanging to slips away from his fingers.

 

He suddenly gets pushed forward, he can’t control his movement, it’s too fast, way too fast. He doesn’t feel the cold, thick rope in his hands. His mind grows heavy, cloudy with thoughts, he can’t think straight, he can only see the vast space and a—

 

Door

 

He tightly grips onto the handle. 

 

He steadies himself, trying to declutter the mess inside his mind, it’s too blurry, too much, too much for him, he could stop for five minutes, let his led settle down into a cautious yellow as his thoughts slowly clutters away.

 

But right now he can’t do that.

 

“Gavin! Tina!” He sends a message to the comms, gritting his teeth as a quiet wave of pain ebbs through his mind. 

 

“Where are you!” He tries to reach it far and wide in the open, ignoring the searing pain that’s burning in his temple. He looks to his hands tightly gripping the handle, and he looks down, and there’s nothing, blackness, emptiness, down into the abyss.

 

He’s so scared

 

He’s alone in the darkness where no one can reach


	2. Inside Sevastopol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sskskssk IM SO SORRY  
> I have a lot of fics going on at the same time so its hard to keep with it all. Probably not a good idea to start multiple ones but fuck it you know? I have made this chapter longer, I think anyways, as an im sorry i suck at updating at stuff. Also this might not make sense?? The characters introduced are daniel and carlos's android, i dont have a name for him
> 
> Kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated <3

It’s all his fault

 

_It’s all his fault_

 

~~It’s all his fault~~

 

_~~They’re dead~~ _

 

~~_Floating off in the abyss_ ~~

 

He almost collapses as he feels gravity pull him back to the ground. He’s so tired, it’s dragging him down, pulling him down deeper and deeper and deeper. He barely manages to get the bulky suit of him, he sets it on the glass chamber.

 

He stares at the white, placing door full of scratches. He shouldn’t open, he shouldn’t go out that door and complete his mission, start something that he can’t undo, hear his voice for the last time for the sake of his mission.

 

But he already made a promise.

 

It’s a promise from his Dad.

 

~~_It’s a promise for himself._ ~~

He pushes the button. He could feel the regrets, the thoughts that grow rampant for only a second as the door hisses open, revealing the mess he’s left to deal with.

 

“Gavin, Tina, can you hear me?” He says it quick and fast, he doesn’t want to think about their dead bodies floating off in the abyss. He gets nothing, only white, loud static noise.

 

~~_It’s all his fault_ ~~

 

He could practically hear his Dad yelling at him to stop blaming himself

 

He takes a step forward in the unknown, he can’t go back know. The station it self is eerie, giving off a strange feeling. The design is outdated, lo-fi like the Torrens. But the way everything is falling apart, the open wires, the gas leaks. It’s like the warehouse back at _home._

 

Something's not right.

 

He walks the dark, long hallways. He walks slower than usual, sticking near the walls. He can’t help but feel like someone’s _watching_ him. So many eerie sounds echoes through the hallways, yet the sounds of his own footsteps feeds into his anxiety.

 

He’s done things like this in training.

 

He’s fine.

 

Connor stumbles into a door. He’s frowning at the red light that’s illuminating the darkness, he’ll have to try the ace up his sleeve. He reaches out, slow and gentle, watching his skin peel back to a pure, white porcelain. He hesitates before placing his hands fully flat on the door.

 

_[Manual override successful]_

 

The security was way too advanced, intricate, he’s luck that he manages to override it. This type of security is meant to keep something _in_ or out. It’s confusing him. Isn’t the Sevastopol supposed to be for trades and minerals?

 

He takes a step back, watching the door hiss open. It only opens to more confusion. More questions that circles around Connor’s mind that he doesn’t _need._ It’s way too much for him, he doesn’t need to ask questions, he’s just here to complete his mission.

 

It opens up to a hallway, but bigger. He glances towards the abandoned medical cart, and there’s something on it. Connor walks over, he could hear his footsteps echo and it gets on his nerves.

 

It’s a sign

 

_“Fuck Sevastopol.”_

 

He could hear the groans of the ships a few seconds later. It feels scripted, like someone’s having a good laugh seeing him get startled with such horrid noises. He looks at the barely visible blue ink, there’s something there. He squints, hearing his processors whirl to figure out what it is.

 

_[Traces of blood is found]_

 

_Shit_

 

He’s silently screaming inside. He’s kicking himself, telling himself that he’s an idiot. That he’s so dumb. That he’s so scared to not find out his Dad’s last words so he embarked on a stupid journey through the abyss of space just for a mission. He drops it on the ground, cringing as he hears the thud echo loudly.

 

He quickens his pace.

 

He stares at the exposed wires hanging from the roof. The random bunch of crates. The debri on the floor and the poster that fell over the ground that told about how revolutionary Sevastopol station. Everything is falling apart.

 

It’s weird for him to think about that people lived here, made memories in this breaking station. People walked through advanced metal detectors that are know broken, sending sparks of electricity every once in a while. He walks through it.

 

Another groan of the ship leads him to overthink everything, he _hates_ it. It makes every single processor in his body become sensitive. His body is on edge, stiff, _frozen_ . But the thing he hates the most is his heightened senses, a single drop of a pin could be the same as a car horn echoing inside his head, a tiny change in temperature could equal from _burning_ to _freez_ ing.

 

But it’s quickly over in a second, Humans, _Gavin_ and even Androids are telling him that he’s overreacting , to get over himself.

 

_He hates it_

 

He’s learned to keep everything inside, every complain, every thought inside his breaking mind.

 

He’ll be fine

 

He does the same routine again on a locked door, feeling a buzz in his temple. It hisses open. It opens up more questions than answers.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“Markus.”_

 

_“This isn’t going to work.”_

 

_“Trust me North it will—“_

 

_“Everyone else alive is either gone crazy, mad, fighting for their lives. Markus, this isn’t going to work.”_

 

_“You’re going to have to trust me.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He make sure he’s walking slower, steadier this time, aware of his surroundings. He stares at the windows outside, hands touching the cold, icy surface. There something in the distance, he focuses on it.

 

“Torrens…” he could make out the faint outline, but it’s _far,_ not far enough to take off but _far_ enough to observe, it confuses him. “Hello, this is Connor Anderson, Torrens can you hear me?” _Nothing,_ he receives _nothing_ except the loud, white noise that echo inside his mind.

 

_Nothing._

 

He walks away from the window, the abyss of space is giving him weird thoughts. He liked it. Now it’s infected with intrusive thoughts, bleeding leds, questions he doesn’t know the answer to. It’s weird.

 

He walks close what looks like a noodle shop. He picks up the broken wooden chopsticks, the broken plates, the torn up papers about Sevastopol. He feels as though there’s a message hidden with _broken._ Connor feels as though he’s staring right into an important piece of evidence as it stares back at him through the broken shards of glass on the floor.

 

The speakers above him crackle and pop.

 

“Welcome to Sevastopol, where your health and safety is our first priority.”

 

He keeps looking, looking at the tiny pieces of paper on the ground, looking at the paint on the walls, looking at the signs above the shops. He trying to make sense of it all, piecing the broken puzzle pieces to find out what’s going on. But it leads him to a dead end, leaving him in confusion.

 

“My name is Connor!” He yells out, hoping someone can hear him, hoping someone can help him. “I’m sent by the DPD, hello!” He yells again.

 

But he hears nothing, only the echoes of the ship.

 

The whole station feels dead, empty. He focuses on the tiniest sounds, from the groans of the station to the paper crinkling beneath his feet. The tiniest of sounds would lead him closer to his ~~Dad~~ completing his mission.

 

It has to.

 

He makes sure not to overlook anything, to not overlook any tiny detail. He doesn’t want to fail. Failing means disappointment. Failure means losing everything as it crumbles away right before his hands. He experienced it at first hand.

 

The door in front of him hisses open, revealing more confusion, more questions that has no answers. He’s staring through the windows of rooms. Peeking to only find nothing importance to the mission, tables that are split in half and broken terminals that doesn’t work.

 

Another door opens in front of him. Another hallway. Another cycle in the endless maze he’s in. He’s lucky to find if he’s able to find words that’s sprayed onto the bare walls.. Sometimes he even sees broke vents and an unpowered terminal. It’s only leading him into circles, it feels like the answer is right in front of him.

 

But then there’s something faint playing in the air.

 

It sounds empty, _eerie_ . One of the most basic songs of a raspy voice with a quiet strum of the guitar is deafening in the silence. It doesn’t fit in the strange, the silence that hangs in the air. He needs it off, he _wants_ it off. It’s irritating, digging deep into his skull.

 

He looks through the windows, his pace faster which each window he passes. It reminds him of bad things. Bad things that’s slowly resurfacing in the eerie silence. He doesn’t want to _remember_ the time where he was practising with Cole and he almost—

 

Almost…

 

He can’t finish the sentence

 

Because it’ll tear him apart and leave him broken like he is at 2 am.

 

He’s sighs, gritting his teeth as he opens the door in front of him. He walks over to the radio, the music now coming out as grainy. He turns it off quickly. And everything is plunged into darkness once again. It’s what he likes best. He’s grown used to the lonely silence that’s settled into the station.

 

“Who are you?”

 

The voice cuts deep into the silence, cutting deep as it echoes through out. He turns around, revealing a man with one hand on the gun and one hand on a flashlight, sending shadows dance across the walls..

 

“What does that have to do with you?” His voice is perfect, perfect tone, volume. He corrects it in over a second, if he didn’t it would’ve came out as shaky and weak. He can’t have that.

 

“I said who are you!” The man is angrier, scared with each second passing. The man with blonde hair, gentle features turning angrier with the frown on his face. He watches his knuckles turn white, he’s trying hard not to shake too much. Connor staying still, hands in the air, hoping it would somehow his trust.

 

“Why do you need to know?”

 

A warning shot _barely_ misses him, it makes the sound echo loudly throughout the room and into the hallway. If that man did it in purpose. He knows how to shoot, he must’ve been skilled, but the shakyness of his hands is conflicting him.

 

“Do not come any closer.”

 

“We can talk about this.”

 

“Then tell me who the hell you are!”

 

He doesn’t want to do this. There’s no way around this. He doesn’t want to this, he doesn’t want to this, he doesn’t want to this.

 

~~He doesn’t want to do this.~~

He’s getting ready, he’s hearing his processors spin faster, he’s feeling his core heat up more. He’s scanning, searching for an object that can _kill_ instantly, he doesn’t want him to suffer.

 

“Answer me!”

 

Then it all clicks.

 

He lets it uncoil. He acts fast, throwing a paper weight in front of him to distract him, to disorient him. He closes the gap between them in a single _second_ that he would’ve been killed by a bullet. He sends him the ground, him in top. Then he looks him in the eye, fear swimming in those _cloudy_ eyes.

 

Then he kills him.

 

The flashlight rolls out of his hands, sending a shadow of the body and him to the wall.

 

He allows himself to disassociate with emotions, with _him_ during those five seconds. But he’s back in reality, and it’s slowly settling in, he killed someone with his own, two hands. He’s _evil_ , a _murderer_ , a _demon._

 

Sometimes, he hears the voice in the middle of the crowd calling him a “killing machine”.

 

He had to do this many times, times in the DPD to save peoples lives. But it doesn’t make him any better. He’s slowly falling apart with each second he looks at the _dead_ body and his stress levels spiking. He walks out, trying his best to ignore that it happened, to shove it all in the back of his mind. He had to do it, had to do it for the mission.

 

But he feels like throwing up, throwing up all his biocompents and thirium, cut open his chest and let him bleed as everything turns into a mess, it’s a small price to pay, a consequence for him because he feels like he’s too high above the law.

 

He doesn’t even pay attention to the groans of the ship, the sparks of electricity that’s coming from the wires that’s probably too close to him. Everything is slowly drowning away at his fingertips and it’s _scaring_ him. He’s walking away, walking away quickly from the consequence he has to suffer.

 

He just wants this to end

 

_[Stress levels are rapidly increasing to dangerous numbers, please considering taking a break to lower stress levels to normal range]_

 

But then the crackles of his radio snaps him out it. It’s ringing against his ears, and he just wants it to stop, they didn’t contact him, it’s just a random signal, they’re _dead,_ floating off further and further into the abyss. He considers it a sacrifice, yes, a sacrifice, a sacrifice that was made so he could step into the decaying ship _just_ for the mission.

 

But when’s _too_ much?

 

He hears a silent click in the silence behind him.

 

In the split second he hears it he knows it’s too late, he’ll die by the trigger and his thriium will be splatter all over the walls and no one will remember him.

 

“Don’t you dare fucking move.”

 

But his death doesn’t come, he only freezes for a second, enough for him to feel the muzzle of the gun on his temple.

 

“What do you mean?” He says, trying to sound more scared and panicked than he already is, trying to look small. Maybe they will see him as weak, pathetic, something that not important and is often swept under the rug, then at the right time he’ll take his gun and kill him and feel the whole world will crush him down again—

 

“Don’t play any games at me.”

 

Then it all shatters in front of him. He drops the act, bites his lips hard enough that he can taste thirium. There nothing left, no other option, it’s over, he’s done. He puts his hands up, led blinking and bleeding blood red.

 

“He was my friend, he was my _only_ friend. You killed him!” He’s feeling the muzzle of the gun digging deeper and deeper, if this continues this could damage him, leave a nasty bruise on his temple that would last for weeks.

 

“I didn’t mean to kill him--”  


“Shut up! Just shut up or I’ll kill you.” The stillness that comes after each word is eerie, he’s not used to hearing the heavy breathing and the groans of the ship. The stranger makes him walk back where he came from, where there’s more faulty wiring and the lights in the walls keeps flickering.

 

“Where are you taking me?” He’s trying, trying to get information, every single ounce of information that he could use that could lead him to getting out of here _alive._ But the stranger doesn’t respond, only handles him harsher and shoves him more with more force.

 

“Can I ask what your name is?” He mutters, calm and collected, hiding the tremors in his voice, he could die, right here in this decaying ship. He hides it all underneath a fragile porcelain. He feels his thirium pump ring inside his ears, it’s unsettling as he waits for answer, any kind of answer.

 

Instead he gets shoved, thrown to the floor, he couldn’t be bothered to sit himself up properly. He’s knows he’s done, he’s going to kill him right here, let him bleed out and let the thirium seep through the tiny illuminated holes on the floor. It’s slowly sinking in as he stares right at him, a shaking hand is pointed at him, one feet away, gun aimed at him.

 

“I could kill you,” he mutters, echoing throughout the hallway,” I can kill you, I-I-I  can let you bleed out here right now.” He looks like he’s slowly losing all his sanity, go insane, never think once more. Connor is watching him, he looks like he’s an inch close to pulling the trigger, but he’s stopping himself, _trying to._

 

So he tries something, push him back to reality.

 

“You know you’re friend won’t be proud if you kill me.” He says, trying to sound weak, in pain, falling apart at the seams. He is, but he’s over exaggerating, it’s easy to manipulate when you’re _feeling_ it right now. He gets grunt, he looks up, he sees him muttering a few incoherent words to himself, like mantra to he made to stop himself the abyss from to take over him, make him go _insane._

 

“What your name?” He mutters, staring at the blood and bruises on his dark skin tone. His skin is darker than Connor’s. His grey jacket is ruined, holes everywhere, strings of frayed fabric twisting into the air. Maybe if he can act quickly, grab him by his legs that’s hidden by his ruined jeans, make him fall or the ground, step on his arm to make him release his gun, maybe he can live, then he can pursuit his mission again.

 

“Shut up!” He’s close to breaking, _good_ , make him break, tear him to pieces. “Just… shut up.” His tone is quiet at the end, he watches his hand melt away into a white porcelain, reflecting the red lights above him.

 

He’s an Android.

 

_~~”Treat every single living being the same”~~ _

 

It’s taking a while to stomach, processors overclocking to just stomach it all. He’s an Android, gun pointed at him. He shouldn’t be thinking about it, he should be quickly to figuring out if his plan of attack would work in practice.

 

“What’s your name please I just want to know.” He asks again, repeating it in front of him. He gets incoherent words in return, rushed. He pushes himself back, slowly standing up, hands in the air. The gun follows his every move, flashlight blinding his eyes. It’s a large  margin of error that they are both standing on. It could all unfold into chaos.

 

“Don’t kill me.” He mutters, soft, gentle. His plan won’t work, it’ll slowly spiral of chaos is he does it. So he goes with another option ~~one that won’t let the voices inside his head say that he’s a murder~~ a safer one, one that could easily be executed if done right.

 

“You’re going to regret this please put down the gun.” It’s true, it leave the voices inside his head to repeat the words _you killed him_ echo forever.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Your friend doesn’t want you to do this—“

 

“Shut up!” The silence is quick, pushing hard on both of them. What follows is a ragged breaths from him, trying to calm himself down, arm shaking, grip on hand growing loosely every second. If he wants to kill him, he could do it, right here, let him bleed right here.

 

“His name is Daniel,” he pauses, taking a step back, steadying his aim, “he understood what I went through. People _betrayed_ him, people betrayed me too.”

 

Connor plays along it, nodding slowly, eyes still on the gun, waiting for it to fire off in any second if he isn’t too careful. Connor looks at him in the eyes, a quick glance, enough if you blink you miss it. He quickly looks away, his eyes avoiding Connor’s.

 

He stomachs his pride, maybe if he can pull out his trump card, it’ll work.

 

“I-I came here to rescue everyone,” Connor says, feeding a little bit of the lie, just the tiny piece of the sweet lie, lead them on, “we have a ship, not far from here, I can help get you out.” He watches him shoulders drop, tension in the air loosens, not much, just enough that they can slowly drop their guard.

 

Connor watches him lower the gun, arm dropping to his side, flashlight still pointed at him. It feels too good to be true, just a couple of sentences to stop it all. He remembers the man that he killed, the blonde hair, broken expression, painful, like he just _stopped_ existing way before he managed to--

 

“Okay,” he dryly laughs, just for a second, before he puts his gun on his pocket, rubbing his temple.

 

“Okay.” Connor mutters, looking at him in the eye. “W-what’s your name?” Connor asks, hearing it echo inside his head.

 

“I-I um,” he looks down, avoiding his eyes, the gaze that Connor has when he’s curious, finding out more. Why doesn’t he want to tell Connor his name? It’s a _name,_ what people say to get your attention, it’s nothing special.

 

“I-I d-don’t do names.” He looks up at Connor, watches him nibble on his lower lip, like he just said something forbidden, said a secret that no one can ever no. He’s anxious.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He wants to push further, find out more, uncover hidden secrets. He’s just here to collect a lost flight recorder, something that probably _doesn’t_ exist _,_ but he still makes himself believe.

 

He _does_ believe it, it’s for a mission, a mission that’s for the greater good.

 

A beat passes before anyone speaks.

 

“I have a hideout, somewhere where me and… Daniel lives. Just follow me.” He walks past Connor without a second thought, flashlight aimed to the darkness that’s growing at the end of the hallway. The flashlight uncovers nothing more than frayed wires, loose posters and a couple of tables that’s pushed to the sides.

 

He could kill him right here, make it quick and easy, steal his gun as Connor’s blindly following him, a stranger, someone who’s probably losing his mind, meeting the person who killed the _only_ person who understood him, then inviting him over where he lives.

 

It’s eerie and weird, hearing the echoes, the crackle of the wires. It’s off putting, making his led spin a cautious yellow, thinking, making certain scenarios that could fit what’s happening in the station that’s slowly falling apart.

 

“What happened here?” he asks, quickening his pace so he’s three steps behind him/

 

“I don’t know, it happened so fast. Daniel and I found each other when we were escaping an explosion that happened a week ago.” He pauses, staring at the blinking red light in the corners. They take a sharp left, passing by windows that views into offices.

 

“He told me stories, about how people betrayed him. I-I was betrayed too, a man named Carlos told me promises when we boarded Sevastopol. He didn’t keep them.”

 

_Betrayal,_ it’s something that he experienced and did during his missions back home. It often left him bleeding, leaving him in a sour note, a note in the back his mind that he did it. Connor straightens up crinkles of his dark green suit that wraps around his body and has pockets all over, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbow.

 

“It’s just through here, our little hideout.” He points to one of the vents, watching the sharp razor metal teeth pull back, feeling a sudden whoosh of cold air. Connor watches him go first, slowly crawling into the vent.

 

He hears something inside his mind, white noise, grainy. He gains a sudden hope, it’s a radio signal. They’re alive, they’re reaching out to him. But in a matter of seconds it falls apart, goes still again before he can send a message out.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It opens up to a small room, excluded from everything else. The door is blocked off by a metal cabinet shelf full of books that’s worn down, small containers and tiny knicknacks. He walks up to it, holding the carved out wooden sign that says _good vibes,_ he can see the tiny grooves, the smoothness and oiling of it all. It’s feels like a lazy attempt to make the small room that the two of them can barely fit in feel like home, a home away from home.

 

He picks up a thirium packet from the cabinet, sloshing it around before he feels a hand stop him.

 

“That’s for… somebody.” He swipes it from his hand, watching his eyes dart around the room anywhere but his eyes. It leaves a sour feeling, maybe a hollow one inside Connor, slowly swallowing him open.

 

“Please take whatever you can, I doubt that you can find any of these out there.” He says, like _nothing_ just happened a few seconds ago. Push it aside, forget it exist, it’s like what Connor does. His eyes find a knife on top of a container, picking it up, watching it glint  from the light above them.

 

He looks around one last time, in the space where two lost souls sat and had conversations, talked about their deepest and darkest secrets. From the blankets on the corners to the scattered pieces of papers that’s filled with words. He feels something weight him down, sinking him to the ground. The consequences made for the mission.

 

“We shouldn’t waste too much time.” He says, clutching a book that has the name _Daniel_ written on the front written with faded black ink.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They’re back outside, he prefers the vents, where dust falls from the ceilings, where he can feel the entire vent shift and shake, where the light blinds him in the eyes.

 

But now they’re outside, not in the hideout where they were a few moments ago. He still tails behind him, but Connor knows that he’s still wary around him, stiff, somehow on guard just a little bit, He tries to speak, tries to get a sentence out of mouth, but the silence it too still, Connor’s afraid to break it.

 

“Do you have a plan, anything to get people out of Sevastopol?” It’s awkward and heavy, he’s probably getting a conversation going, not let the silence drag on for too long.

 

“I need to get in contact with my ship, is there a way for that to happen?” Connor asks.

 

Connor watches him stop, clutching the book that tears a little bit inside of Connor. He turns around, turning off the flashlight. It takes him a while for his eyes to readjust before his night vision kicks in again.

 

“There is but…” he clutches the book closer, “the seegson comms is far, I’ve heard gunshots the way we are going. Looters I think.”

 

Connor’s going to regret what he says, it might break them apart, leave the thin layer of trust only created for the sole survival of trust.

“Give me your gun,” he looks around them, it doesn’t look like anyone would bother them for a while, “trust me, please.”

 

His eyes finally meet Connor, it’s warily, anxious.

 

He hands it over.

 

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, he truly means it, not in the way to get his trust, not in the way where you simple say you’re sorry when you hear someone’s loss. He’s sorry, those two words holding the entire world.

 

“He just—I was just—“

 

“Daniel said to me,” he pauses, licking his lips, “that if there’s a chance to get out of here, I take it. I said that to him too.”

 

“I can promise you that I will get you out of here, whatever it takes.”

 

He nods. “Thank you,” he says, different from the tone he says, it’s something that holds hope, seeing the tiny sliver of hope that gleams in the abyss.

 

Connor’s led is still on a cautious yellow, circling, thinking, always thinking. Thinking about the amount of times he told promises, promises that was a mirage, promises that he can’t keep, which led him to break it, smash it into a million pieces that made his led bleed bright red.

 

Like right now.

 

Because he doesn’t think he can hold that promise to him.

 

The flashlight turns on again, outshining the faint lights that’s on the corners of the hallways.


End file.
